


Deadly Affection

by Elf



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman: The Animated Series
Genre: F/M, Horror, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-08-13
Updated: 2010-08-13
Packaged: 2017-10-11 02:05:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/107151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elf/pseuds/Elf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harley keeps a diary as part of her treatment at Arkham.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pleasure in Pain

**Author's Note:**

> _A/N and disclaimer: Don't ask what inspired this bit. I don't even think I can explain it this morning. Trust me, there was a lot more floating around in my head but most of it was images and feelings, nothing I could get on paper and be understandable. _   
> _I own nothing. DC owns everything. Though if they'd ever let me rent, I'd be happy._

I know.

I know that it's not healthy, normal or understandable.

I know that I end up with bruises, black eyes, broken bones, burns, concussions, scratches, and wounds of all sorts that most people aren't even aware of.

I know the pain is often so bad that it's like it's a blinding white light, blocking out almost everything else.

But that's the key word, "almost".

Beyond the pain, there's something else. Something else that I would never have admitted that I felt, at least not until I first felt it.

Ecstasy.

Yes, it hurts. I've never said otherwise. It hurts just as much as anything, possibly more because I never resist. But each blow is a kiss. Each wound, a caress. All of the marks, the scars, everything…remind me that I'm wanted, that I mean something.

Even reading it on paper it makes no sense. Keep in mind, that if I didn't matter, I would never have woken the first morning. I would have slept on while he put a gun to my head and got rid of the extra baggage. The very fact that he didn't surprised both of us.

From the beginning I think I surprised myself. I knew what he was capable of and from the first blow that sent me reeling I felt that dark, hidden part of me come alive. I heard it whisper, soft and hissing, "Yessss….." And I liked it…

That's when I knew. I knew that I was addicted to that deadly affection. Addicted to the knowledge that my life was always hanging by a thread. My body craved his hands around my throat, blocking my air. Even as I would black out I could see his face above me and I'd be lost in waves of bliss even as I passed out. His very nature was a drug that I willingly gave my whole being to. When we were separated I'd begin to shake and twitch, just like any other junkie on the street craving their "fix".

His fist, his touch.

That's my drug. What I have always craved in the darkest parts of my being. The desire to surrender total control of my life. Not just to anyone, but to him.

I've learned.

I've listened.

I am aware of what the others say. That he has no measure of caring for me or my life. That I am nothing but a mirror and a toy that he'll toss away when he's bored.

He's tossed me away more than once and has come looking when I don't return. He's cracked me, yes, but not broken beyond repair. He always seems to stop short of that.

And that's why I'm still here.

Love is a drug. No matter how it's administered. Some people prefer their drug in whispered words and the holding of hands.

I prefer mine in brutal blows given by stark white hands and a man with a laugh that chills others and warms me. I'll happily gorge myself on any form of touch from him, more so when it's the painful blows that remind me that I'm his.

I know that it's not healthy, normal or understandable.

But then, doc, what relationship is?


	2. Past, Present

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _A/N and disclaimer: Funny. I never intended to write more on this one but thanks to random thoughts last night I ended up writing this. It deals again with Harley's curious love of the abuse that she receives from the Joker and she even explains a bit of her own past to try to explain to Dr. Leland why she is the way she is. _   
> _I own nothing. Still. No matter how much I may want to. I doubt DC would ever sell to me even if I begged. Ah well…._

It's kind of funny that you think that I changed completely when I first started working with him. Doc, you never knew me before I came here. To be honest, I knew some things about myself that he actually brought to light. But I knew, somehow, that these things were there…waiting.

You can guess that I dated a lot. No relationship lasted long and I never could figure out why. They'd leave or I'd leave and I'd always wonder what was wrong with me that I couldn't make things work. Some of them were nice guys, others were abusive though not a single one ever hit me.

Maybe that was part of the problem.

Some of the guys I saw were pretty nice. Some of them were assholes and I tolerated them and then threw in the towel. Others were sweet….too much so.

I remember all to clearly the first one who grabbed my hair and pulled my head back so sharply it brought tears to my eyes. I can't explain what I felt except that it was like something stirred. Nothing much else happened there but after that I started feeling restless.

Another one like to leave marks. There was a strange fascination in seeing the bruises afterwards but still it didn't feel quite right. Later there came someone who liked what he called "breath-play". Basically he strangled me with his hands or with ropes until I beat out a safe signal. Not that I ever did that. He let go long before I gave the motion. That caused more thoughts but it didn't work for me.

I flitted, Doc. I flitted from one to another. I'd find one that would seem like a good match and for awhile I'd think I was in love. Then he'd leave for some reason that was never really explained and I'd wonder what about me was so broken. After all, there must have been something. After the last serious one I gave up. I had a feeling that no one would be able to fit the odd shape of emptiness that it felt like I was carrying. I finished up my studies, graduated and applied here.

You were with me that day when I first saw him. Funny, but from the first glimpse I felt something click with that emptiness though even I didn't realize what it was back then.

Even when I gave in and found myself kissing him during a session, I wasn't aware. It didn't hit me until his long fingers wrapped themselves around my throat and I started to choke. With him there was no "safe word" or signal to get him to stop and I knew that if he wanted to kill me right then, he would.

I never even tried to fight him.

Oh, I twitched, I remember a bit of an attempt to reach for his hands but instead of trying to get them off me I remember just placing my own over his. Then I started seeing black that started to hide his face from my vision. All the while I felt the burning of my lungs, the pain in my throat and I wanted him right then as I had never wanted anyone else in my past. It was the sweetest sensation I had felt in my life.

He let go then.

I didn't want him to.

When I looked in the mirror that night I saw the bruises on my neck starting to stand out and when I touched them it was as erotic in a way that I hadn't known. I'd had bruises before, but never by someone like him. Someone who had my life in his hands, someone who gave me no choice in the matter, someone who I gave that control to willingly. Someone who wasn't just anyone.

And I knew that's what had been missing before.

Not the pain.

Not the pleasure.

Not even my possible and likely death.

But _Him_.

It's like I was born for this, Doc, for him. And was just sleeping until he woke me.


	3. Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _A/N and disclaimer:_ _Yeah, I'm on a roll. ::cheers self:: This was part of an idea I had for the last chapter but it didn't come together until today. In this one Harley doesn't talk much about abuse but instead ponders a thought that's been bothering her. _  
> _I still own nothing. ::sighs:: Never will. No matter how much I want it. _

Sometimes I wonder if this is really who I am. I wonder if I'm really just a normal person with normal things who's dreaming about being something different. I know that dreams can seem to go on forever, so what if I'm just that normal person, sleeping at a desk and escaping into this life?

What would I be like?

What's normal?

Maybe I wouldn't be normal at all. Just pretending to be to make it through each day without letting people know otherwise. Maybe in that life I'm still as restless and torn up as I was before I met him. Would I have a job? What kind? It would probably be boring enough to make me want to escape. In that life he wouldn't be there so who would I have? Would I have anyone at all? Have I found happiness?

Probably not if I'm dreaming about me.

I guess I couldn't be that normal if I'm dreaming about this stuff. About me, and him and all the things that we do. Or at least, not if I enjoy dreaming about it.

And if I am dreaming about me, I know that I'm enjoying it.

I wonder what hurts so much in my life that I'm dreaming this dream. Do you think I've been hurt a lot by other? Or did I do it to myself? I have a bad habit of that. I'm always making mistakes. There must be some things that make me happy in that life, different from the things that make this me happy.

I wonder what they are.

Do you think I'm pretty at all? Smart? In love?

Smart, maybe. I know stuff that I know is right. So it's natural I'd dream about knowing it. I'd like to think I'm a little pretty though probably with fewer bruises and scars. But you'd think if I'm in love then I wouldn't be dreaming of him at all.

Sometimes I think that I can catch a glimpse of that dreaming me. It's like looking in the mirror and seeing another face but still it's mine and we recognize each other.

I'm surprised I don't wake up from that shock.

Instead the next time I blink I'm just looking at me and wondering how hard he must have hit me to make me see something like that. But it's funny, I dream at night. I dream about that reflection sometimes when I'm not dreaming of him.

Can I be dreaming in a dream?

I remember from school that it's perfectly possible to do that. It just feels so weird to think that it's actually happening, not just on paper, but happening to me.

Am I a harlequin dreaming of being normal or a normal person dreaming of being a harlequin?

Doc, just a suggestion after reading back over this: I think one of the new meds you have me on is having an adverse effect. Can we talk about that next session?


	4. Dr Leland's Notes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _A/N and disclaimer: I'm back with another chapter! This one is from Dr. Leland's point of view of Harley's current situation and treatment. I always feel kinda bad for Leland in that she might feel responsible for Harley's condition but at the same time, part of her maybe wonders if she's really doing the right thing by trying to cure her. _   
> _I own nothing, BTW. DC owns them all. Mores the pity._

Official Notes:

Patient Quinn seems to be responding well to the idea of using a journal and continues to keep regular entries until recently when a change in medication made her unable to focus enough to write.

Entries show a surprising depth of insight into her own actions and behaviors but does not show any remorse or realization that such behaviors and attitudes might be immoral, hurtful and so on.

Patient does seem calmer since starting the journal and refrains from creating a problem when separated from the Joker.

_Official Recommendation:_

Patient to be removed from new medication that causes intense drowsiness and hallucinations (adverse reaction not predictable). Patient to continue regular journal entries and therapy sessions as scheduled. Patient to still be separated from the Joker as much as possible.

_Unofficial Notes:_

Harley gives me the only migraines I've ever had in my life.

She's right, though. I didn't know much about her life before she came to work here, just what hints she gave me. After reading through some entries it's not surprising that she seems to relish the pain. I'm not sure if masochist is the right word for her, even so. From what she writes it looks like she didn't put up with malicious abuse from any other men, just the Joker.

Why?

Why only with him? I've worked here for years and seen him come in, wreak havoc, and leave again over and over. He's psychotic, sociopathic, a murderer and doesn't care for anyone or anything but himself and his obsession with Batman.

So why hasn't he killed her yet?

I know that he's tried. I was here when she was brought back after he shoved her out of a window from one of the top stories of a tall building. I thought that would be enough to snap her back into reality but a single rose with a card from him (I have yet to turn up any answer as to how he got it in here) seemed to make her think everything was fine.

If Harley were sane I'd say she's suffering from Battered Women's Syndrome but there's not a court in the world that would uphold that diagnosis on her. In their eyes, she's voluntarily choosing to be with him and to commit the crimes and take the abuse that he dictates.

The worst thing is that she agrees wholeheartedly.

Sometimes I don't think I'll ever manage to reach through and bring her back.

I usually lock those thoughts away until the dead of night when I have a glass of wine nearby to help dull them. I can't think them during the day otherwise I'd feel the need to just hand in my license and walk away.

How can I help someone who seems to be much happier the way they are now then they were before? Not only that but she's fully aware of it!

She listens to me during our sessions when I tell her my thoughts on the situations she's written about and related but she listens with the same air that I've seen so many other psychiatrists use. It's the look of "of course that's what you think".

What does she see in him? I still can't figure it out. When I look at him I see the bodies of everyone he's destroyed in one fashion or another. I've tried to look past that, to see him as just a face but those eyes and that smile won't let me. Harley looks at him and acts like she's seen a god come to earth. Worse than that (and I truly hate to even consider these thoughts) she apparently has a physically intimate relationship with him.

God, if there was a way to scour a person's brain I'd do it in a heartbeat to myself after even letting that thought get through.

Doesn't it bother Harley that the person she's so devoted to murders people carelessly? She doesn't seem to think of the blood on his hands…or even her own now.

For her, I think it's just pure and simple love. Blind love.

I almost envy her the utter simplicity of her love. She doesn't care about anything but that and it makes her happy.

Am I really helping her by trying to break her of that love?

Am I really making a difference at all here at Arkham?

I don't know either answer. I do know I have to keep trying, otherwise…what's been the point?

_-from the notes of Dr. Joan Leland_


	5. Meaning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _A/N and disclaimer: I know it's been awhile since I updated. I started this chapter right before a family crisis and never had the time to come back to it. But I've taken a moment to write and relax and voila! _   
> _I own nothing. Heck, I'm lucky to be paying my bills right now. Please don't sue me!_

What am I to him? That's really what you want to know, Doc? It's a long and short answer all at the same time. And even I can't tell you the absolute truth. I don't even think he can.

I'm his toy. A pretty little doll that he took and broke into a thousand pieces and then built back into something that was much more to his liking. Something that he thought would be fun. I'm most certainly there for whatever whim takes him.

I'm his therapy. In a way I do think that I still help, though I'd never say that to him. I'm a place for him to vent his anger on. Physically, verbally, mentally…. There are rare times when I've known he was frustrated while working on a plan and I deliberately provoked a reaction to help him focus again. Not all his reactions are violent like you'd think. Sometimes he yells, sometimes he hisses, sometimes he hits me. Other times it's a simple sentence that diffuses things, me accidentally tripping and landing face first in my own dinner.

I'm his puppet. He says jump and I don't even ask how high, I jump. He tells me to take care of something and I do, to the best of my ability. Sometimes it doesn't always work but I try.

I'm his novelty. Of all the Rogues that you've seen come in and out of Arkham, how many of them have someone that is acknowledged as their significant other? The Joker, the one person who can really give Bats a run for his money, the one that is acknowledged as truly psychotic is the one that has a girlfriend. Even you and the other doctors here seem to find this concept utterly confusing. I think he likes that.

First and foremost, I am his mirror. I'm the reflection of him, his brilliance, his ego, his style. He made me this way and I'm not at all unhappy to reflect all of that back to him.

Don't try to tell me I'm trapped, Doc. Even telling you all that I am to him, I have more freedom now than I ever did before I met him. My freedom is in the surrender of my existence to him. I'm not completely submissive to him. I do voice my opinion and I keep my own friends. Still, he comes first before all other things. And his will comes before mine.

I'm all of that to him but it still comes down to two words that sum up my existence and reason for being.

I'm his.

You can add whatever you want onto those two words. In the end, it boils down to something that simple. And yes, that's the way I prefer it. I never stopped being a strong, independent woman. I still am. I just channel it differently these days.

And that makes me happy.

No, I'll never have the life I like to dream of with him. I knew from the start he wasn't the marrying type. Over the years I've learned to accept that and to be happy with things the way they are. When you can't change things, you learn to accept them. Isn't that what that old saying said? I've accepted my place in his life. I'd rather have this place in his life than any other life without him.

I'm his. That's all I need.


	6. Just Let Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _A/N and disclaimer: I know that the last two entries have been short but that's how they wanted to be written. I hope you guys don't mind too much! This entry is more of a reflection on insanity rather than the Joker himself but I think at some point she'd try to explain it. _   
> _As usual, I own not a single thing, though after seeing the Dark Knight I'm wishing I owned even just one little part. Ah well. I write for the fun and joy of writing, nothing more, nothing less._

There's a very fine line between sanity and madness, Doc. Working here for so long, you must have seen that. You must have felt it. Sitting at home, late at night, feeling the screaming and clawing that you keep trying not to give into after a day's work. Some people feel it constantly.

I did.

I remember often knowing that all I'd have to do was let go and I'd fall backward into the insanity that I felt lurking inside. It was tempting. To give up responsibility for my actions. To no longer care what was right or wrong. To live each moment as it came.

The strangest part was that I always felt that the real me was inside the madness and the me that went to school, pushed to get an internship here…that me was the pretender.

I spent most of my life walking that line like a tightrope. Maybe that's why I was such a good gymnast in school. I tended to dip a toe into the darkness on occasion and the more I did, the more I felt…different…from the rest of the people around me. The few friends I did have never stayed friends for long. And I've told you of my issues with relationships.

Then I started working here.

Maybe I was drawn here by more than just the idea of money that I could make off of him. I think something inside me recognized this place. I felt oddly comfortable here and never shared the varying degrees of fear that I saw in the other doctors. Still, I was focused on one goal: to get him as a patient and write a book about him.

In my sessions with him, I think he saw my balancing act. He never pushed me over that line, but he tickled me and nudged me into leaning that way. In the end, I went over the line myself. I think that's what he wanted all along, to have me do it of my own free will.

I'm not sure if I'd even consider myself insane, Doc. I think "free" would be a better word for it. I'm free in a way that I only dreamed of before I met him.

Do you want to know what it feels like? I assure you, there's a definite feeling that I remember when I let go and fell into the dark.

Close your eyes. Feel that slight tingling sensation right behind your eyelids that stretches up into your forehead? That's the first thing you really feel, only it's as though it's ticking your entire brain. While I talk about it being darkness, it's really a mix and swirl of colors that is impossible to describe that's overlaid on the darkness inside. Next you feel as though you've slid into a hot bath, scalding and yet it raises goosebumps at the same time. Inside your skull it feels like fireworks for a long moment as so many possibilities and dreams that you never let yourself imagine come racing to the front to dance in front of you. It gives you shivers and makes you laugh.

In some people, the laughter never stops.

That's what it feels like, to let go and embrace the chaos inside.

Tingly and warm.

Like a hot bath.

And all you have to do is close your eyes and let go.


	7. Friendship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _A/N and disclaimer: It's been awhile since I updated this particular story. For some reason, this particular chapter touches a subject that I just couldn't his the right tone on. Today it struck me. :) As usual, I own nothing. Just the crazy stream of consciousness that is the writing itself. _

You asked me a question in our session today that you really should know the answer to, Doc. You asked if I still knew right from wrong in the traditional sense and according to the law.

I may have dived headlong into madness, Doc, but I didn't leave my brains at the door.

I am still perfectly aware of what is right and wrong both according to what most people think and what the law dictates. I was a psychologist once too. The only thing that changed in me was that I no longer cared to follow what others did. Their moral and lawful codes don't matter anymore. Just mine. Well, to be honest, it's really his but I follow it the same. And to stop you from asking another truly inane question in our next session, yes I am happier this way.

When I obeyed the law, adhered to what everyone else said was right and wrong my life was incredibly dull. I had no real friends, no life outside of my schoolwork and then my short-lived career. You were the closest thing I had to a friend back then, Doc, and not even you can say you knew me much at all.

Now I have more friends than I ever imagined. I know you think I only ever follow him but I do have other friends. Look at Red and me. She's the best friend a gal could ask for. Sure, she constantly tries to get me away from him and hates him with a passion. What best friend doesn't look out for her girl? I know she'd do anything for me. There's never been a time when she's turned me away, even when I screw things up. Professor Crane is also one of those people I consider a friend. Plus I can talk shop with him. He's one of the smartest guys I know and polite to boot. True, he keeps to himself most of the time but he's still more of a friend than anyone I had before. Even Eddie is a pretty good friend and fun to talk to, when you can get him to stop talking in riddles.

I could go on, Doc. I really could. But what's the point? I'm sure you'll sit down with me next time and point out all the reasons why these people aren't my friends and how they just use me. Before you do that, keep in mind all the things I've managed to mess up, the times I've completely thrown a wrench into the plans without meaning to. Remember all that and then remember that all these people are still kind to me and I to them.

How else do you define friendship?

I'd even venture as far as to say that my friendships with these people, particularly Red, is just as strong as, if not stronger, than any friendship that you or the other doctors would say is between perfectly normal people.

Knowing what friends do to each other, what they endure and put up with, I think we have to be a least a little insane to have true friends.

And Doc, doesn't that make my friendships with the Rogues some of the strongest of all?


End file.
